All My Soldiers
by Haley Hanson
Summary: Hatred destroyed their family and tragedy salvaged the pieces. As they watch Gotham sink deeper into hell each must make a choice to stand and fight, or be damned as well. Before all is done the streets will run red with the blood of four young men.
1. Armani and Kevlar

_-Armani and kevlar._

**Strength does not come from physical capacity. It comes from an indomitable will. -Mahatma Gandhi**

Buttons, they had become increasingly troublesome for Dick. He couldn't say if it was the perpetual shaking in his hands or his new affinity for the seams and clasps of a different suit. Armani and Kevlar, he wore both constantly, though was never quite content in either. Any situation that he found himself in while clad in any combination of the two seemed to be life threatening.

"Mr. Wayne?"

There came a gentle knock on the door but before a word could form on his lips Dick felt his stomach roll and his throat constrict. Alfred's pecan pancakes had been far better going down than coming up, and the shocking amount of times he found himself regurgitating his breakfast did not make him anymore tolerant of the taste. There was nothing he could do though, his stomach would settle of its own accord.

Without looking he flushed away the bile, holding the back of his hand to his mouth to prevent the temptation of dry heaving. With unsteady steps he managed to reach the sink, turning the tap on as cold as he could get it before splashing a handful of chilled water against his feverish flesh.

* * *

"Mr. Wayne the press conference is due to start in five minutes…" There was a sense of urgency in his assistants voice that Dick was quickly beginning to tire of.

"I'll only need one," Dick called in response. One moment to regain the air of collected composure everyone had come to expect from him. Push away the pain, the stress, and the worry. He couldn't afford it, no matter the billions in his bank account.

* * *

Forcing his hunched back to straighten, Dick slapped a healthy tone into his pale cheeks and smoothed out the imaginary wrinkles he'd envisioned down the front of his suit. A quick adjustment to his tie found him ready to greet the masses. He only had one month in the cowl so far but he still preferred dealing with hardened criminals in comparison to the chattering flock of reporters that seemed to descend on him like vultures on carnage.

Casting the bathroom door open Dick flashed a charming smile toward his bashful assistant, his hand poised as if ready to knock again. "I only needed but a moment Bill, and please call me Richard_. Mr. Wayne_ was my father."

Squaring his shoulders Dick stretched his neck, grimacing as it popped in multiple places. With a camera ready smile he strode through the double doors with a very convincing sense of faked bravado. He funded programs for peace and victim services by day as the great heir to Wayne Enterprises. By night he waged war on the corruption and violence rotting his city from the inside out. Dick fought both fronts relentlessly, and no friend or foe would stop him until Gotham was safe once more.

However the bullet aimed for his chest, which soared over rows of flinching paparazzi from the barrel of a familiar _beretta_ just might prove to be an unpleasant obstacle.

* * *

**AN: So for anyone who missed it, this is one month from where 'All My Brothers' left off. A short start but enough to get the ball rolling. :)**


	2. Impact

_-Impact_

**He who trims himself to suit everyone will soon whittle himself away. -Raymond Hull**

One, exhale—

Two, inhale—

Three, impact.

Serenity, professionalism, and obligation all came to a shattering demise in a matter of three seconds. Reporters scramble, cameras snap, and Dick falls. Nobody rushed in like they were supposed to. Guards were too busy shielding Lucius and ushering away a stunned Oliver. No one cared about the heir stumbling backward under the impact of a bullet, even the people whose job it was to care were fleeing in favor of self-preservation. The sight made Roy sick.

He was left in a suddenly vacant press hall, rooted to the spot as Dick's body collapsed inward and fell with a resounding thud onto the unforgiving marble. Roy cannot, will not believe the situation has gone so disastrously awry. With no one to block his path he vaulted over the rows of empty seats, half expecting to land in a puddle of blood.

However the marble is suspiciously pearly and the grip of panic crushing his heart loosens the slightest amount. Without hesitation he ripped into the fabric of Dick's undoubtedly expensive suit. Looking for mangled flesh, rushing blood, anything that would indicate the bullet he saw fired had hit its mark.

Roy found nothing of the sort, instead his fingernails chipped away and his skin began to feel raw. It took a minute or two for him to realize he's been clawing in vain at a Kevlar weave vest, one with a bullet lodged conveniently in its material instead of Dick's heart.

"Smart bastard," he rocked back onto his heels with a quiet sigh. His fingers reached for a pulse, finding the steady thrum. Gathering the man into his arms, Roy was surprised at just how light Dick felt. It was easy to forget he was actually older than the new Batman. Those royal blue eyes just seemed to have seen too much.

No one noticed him slip away with the limp man in his arms.

* * *

"That wasn't part of the plan!"

It took all of Roy's willpower and a heap load of warning from a stern butler to not lodge an arrow between Jason's mirth filled eyes. His shout echoed around the penthouse, though Jay was the only one conscious to hear it. In truth Roy wasn't entirely sure what the plan had been, something along the lines of Red Hood marking a claim to the new Wayne heir so other criminals wouldn't.

"But it made a statement didn't it?" Jason arched his eyebrows with a slight smirk, one hand nursing the bruise on his cheek courtesy of the archer, while the other twirled about the disconnected phone cord.

"You _shot_ him!" Roy failed to see little more than a scrap of rationality in Jason's explanation, his fists balling at his sides. "What if he hadn't been wearing that vest? Did you even know if he was wearing it before you pulled the trigger?"

The sharp glare Jason threw him was answer enough. While the method had been unorthodox it was also meticulously thought out.

* * *

"Good to know you didn't really want me dead." The hoarse voice split the tension heavy silence that had fallen between Roy and Jason, both of their gazes wandering toward the bed the size of a small country that sat only a few feet away.

"Good to know you still care." The subtle jab hit Roy a little harder than it should have. In the month they'd taken up permanent residence in Gotham he'd gone out of his way to avoid Dick, even if he did owe a fair amount of his life to the man. Without another word the archer gathered his bag and slipped out the front door.

Dick frowned at Roy's back, trying to deny the hurt that swelled in his chest as his ex-best friend walked away. A weight flopping down at his side stole his attention.

"He'll come around…maybe." If Jason was trying to comfort him, well it was Jason.

* * *

"You couldn't think of another way for Red Hood to put a personal label on me, maybe something that didn't involve a near concussion and severe bruising?" Dick eyed his brother wearily, yanking at the IV in his wrist. He ached all over from the evenly dispersed shock of the bullet and he could feel the scratch of bandages wrapped up and down his chest.

"That bullet was as much a warning to criminals as it was to you." Jason's yes narrowed dangerously and he whipped back the covers, revealing Dick's battered body. How the public bought polo accidents so many times over was unbelievable. New bruises layered over old, cuts slicing through scars, and there were plenty of scars. Jason could pick out each one that had been caused by his own hand as easily as if it was a still freshly inflicted wound.

"I did some talking to the kid, Alfred too. And we've all come to the conclusion that you're steadily turning into Bruce." He was blunt, if only because the transformation had to be stopped, and soon.

* * *

"Gotham needs Bruce." Dick muttered, trying to reclaim the blankets Jason had stripped away.

"No, Gotham _needs_ Dick Grayson. You know the fly boy pushover with a loud mouth and the emotional range of the Pacific Ocean? Gotham needs that guy, not the ass wipe that left him to care for two minors, an empire, and a city that makes Hell look inviting."

Jason's heart to heart moments were a bit intense, but that was just the nature of their family. Dick appreciated them, no matter how degrading the comment, and maybe that was exactly the point Jason had been trying to get across.

Not wanting to give his younger brother the satisfaction of being right, Dick simply sighed. He glanced at the phone cord Jason still had wrapped around his hands, wanting a change of subject.

"The phone got annoying, so I killed it." Jason shrugged it off like killing household appliances was normal, with him, Dick had to remember that it probably was.

"Who's called?"

Jason snorted but Dick could see a lingering smile behind it. "An easier question would be who hasn't called. The entire JLA, half of Bladhaven's police force, the Gordon family, four aliens, twenty-three international numbers, thirteen billionaires from your social circle, a good chunk of Haly's circus, and an ungodly amount of reporters. You sir are _popular_."

* * *

Dick could taste the sarcasm dripping of Jason's tongue but he'd yet to hear about the one call that really mattered.

"Not Tim?"

Jason's face hardened and he shook his head.

"Not Tim."

Somewhere a door creaked open, clad in his school uniform Damian strode into the penthouse with a murderous gleam in his eye. Towed by his collar behind him was a very dazed looking Roy.

"You're next Todd." A voice so menacing shouldn't be capable of coming out of something so small.

Collapsing back into the pillows Dick made a mental note to address his little bird's tone of voice, but he'd let Jason sweat awhile before he did.

* * *

**AN: Love goes out to all the reviewers :) This was one bit of fluff before I throw the boys into the clutches of Gotham's scum. Any suggestions for which villain is first to take a swing?**


	3. The Urge to Scream

_-The urge to scream._

**A screaming comes across the sky. It has happened before, but there is nothing to compare it to now. -Thomas Pynchon  
**

Breathing—

Speedsters have to do it.

Martians, for the most part, have to do it.

Hell even a _Kryptonian _has to breathe.

Why anyone would think 'the bats' had a free pass on the whole need for air was beyond Dick. In fact the use of suffocation as a torture method proved both terrifyingly affective and completely incapacitating.

Struggling in vain he tried to free his gauntlets from the sludge that surrounded him. Thick laughter echoed off the alley walls as Dick strained against Clayface's all-consuming gut to reach anything of even remote use. He wasn't sure the grenade pellets qualified as useful considering his proximity to the blast zone, but there wasn't a way in hell Dick was going to take a mouthful of the goo.

* * *

'_Oracle…'_

'_-ang in –ere ba—up –nr—te'_

Static crackled through his com, breaking Barbara's words into undecipherable fragments. Maybe if he hadn't insisted that Damian eat all of his broccoli before joining him on patrol he wouldn't have been in this mess. Alone and out of options, Dick felt the grenade pellet tick to life in his one free hand. Having sucked in a final breath he tossed the small object skyward, his smirk of satisfaction disappearing behind the glob of sludge that sucked in his face while Clayface unknowingly sucked down the pellet.

* * *

Damian raced across the roof tops, cape fluttering out behind him. Grayson had insisted that he take the time to eat his wretched vegetables before going on patrol. A thundering boom echoed into the silent night, cutting off Damian's thoughts before they turned toward insulting his mentor instead of his dinner. Pausing on the next roof over he eyed the fading burst of light wearily, he pressed two fingers to his ear straining to hear any kind of response through the com-link.

'_Batman do you copy?' _

'…_.'_

'_Batman?'_

'…'

'_Dick are you alright?'_

'…_.'_

Every moment of voiceless static was nerve wracking, worries and assumptions pouring through the little bird's mind at a speed that would make Wally jealous. Three fourths of Arkham were still running loose in the city and Dick was out alone in those backstreets. As Damian fearlessly threw himself onto the next rooftop he realized so was he.

* * *

Cracked concrete consumed Dick's line of sight. A sharp ringing in his ears drowned out the voices trying desperately to shout through his com-link all at the same time. He heaved himself upward the vision settings on the cowl fizzled in and out of focus, blinding him for a handful of seconds at a time. A rustle of fabric sounded from his side, the demanding tone of Damian's voice managing to pierce his mangled senses.

"Batman!"

"Robin?"

Both seemed to take a moment to eye their partner in relief, neither aware of the sludge blobs gradually rejoining behind them.

"Look out!" The gravelly growl of the bat shouted in unison with the adolescent voice of his partner as they both leapt out of the path of Clayface's restructured fist. Willing his vision to stay solid Dick tumbled down the alley, landing an explosive batarang dead center on the villain's back, if only to get him away from Damian.

The small scale blast did little more than slow Clayface's advance toward Robin, the boy flinging out every arsenal in his belt against the sludge.

* * *

"Robin the roof tops!" Running off a burst of protective adrenalin Dick whipped out a grappling line and shot it upward, onto the nearest roof. With the controlled swing of an acrobat the cowl clad man gathered his charge within the folds of his cape and swept upward, only to be yanked down by a rock solid fist.

Beneath the fabric of a cowl and a domino mask two pairs of blue eyes locked together and before the momentum could drag Damian down too, Dick let go of his Robin, plummeting toward the concrete bellow.

* * *

'_GRAYSON!'_

* * *

Every com-link on the bat frequency echoed with the name as Damian clutched to the railing of a fire escape, eyes transfixed on his falling partner.

Clayface's grip disappeared, allowing Dick to free fall. But before the bone crunching impact could be made, familiar gloved hands took a firm grip on Batman's outstretched arms. In the brief moment before landing Dick had registered the sight of a red domino mask and a tuft of white hair among a head of black. Without a thank you or even a brash comment the two launched back toward the task at hand.

Up top Damian could hear his heartbeat thudding in his ears, a rare sense of gratitude toward Todd flooding his veins as both of his older brothers seemed to land somewhat unscathed on the alley floor.

* * *

Jason felt Dick's shoulder blades press into his as they stood back to back against the sludgelings spawned from Clayface's original form.

"Divide…" Batman growled.

"And conquer." Jason finished. It wasn't like Red Hood could be seen keeping such company.

Fistfuls of ice pellets flew from Dick's hand as Jason lashed out with a stray bags of concrete left around a nearby construction company. When the dust cleared only frozen and or solid masses of what had once been Clayface remained.

"He's gotten stronger." Dick huffed, swiping at the trickle of sweat tracing down his jaw. He was beginning to feel the full ache of the fight and could only hope Jason had woken up on the right side of bed, lest he have to endure another vulgar lecture about being what Jason deemed _dickheaded._

"You've been away from Gotham too long, they've all gotten stronger…smarter even." Jason growled coldly as he eyed the hulking shadow that was Batman, and shook his head. Nearly two months in and Gotham was still in disarray.

"Smarter…" Dick's head snapped upward, only to catch sight of a little Robin toppling over the roof edge.

* * *

When Damian had first heard the sniffling he thought it had been a figment of his imagination; however the annoying sound had persisted while he readied to rejoin the fight below. Glancing just once over his shoulder he caught sight of a young child, her clothes stained with grime and her face smudged with filth.

Motioning the girl over he'd done his best to be friendly but her constantly sniveling proved irritating. "This is a poor choice for a hiding place, is it not?" The girl shrank away at his sharp tone and in an attempt to make amends Damian pulled a forced smile and extended a gloved hand in her direction. "Come on I won't hurt you." Her palm slipped into his, dissolving into a sticky sludge the moment they made contact.

"I won't hurt you either…I'll only kill you."

Before Damian could react his grappling gun was stripped away and the roof beneath his feet had been replaced with open air.

Snagging a fistful of ice pellets from his utility belt he launched them at the girl turned sludgeling, if it would be his last act it would be one of purpose.

Seeing it as a favor to his brothers, he fought the urge to scream.

* * *

While his Robin fell in silence, Dick couldn't contain the shouts that were yanked from his vocal chords. Each outburst was dripping with agony and rage as he searched desperately for a way to save his baby brother. Jason clutched at his armor clad shoulders, his eyes ripped away from the sight of the falling child. Such pain was too much, too soon.

* * *

The twang of an arrow cut through Dick's frantic mind a blaze of red swinging through the alley and plucking the little bird out of the air. Watching Roy land, a flustered Damian squirming out of his grip made Dick's aching knees got weak. Despite the younger's protests he snatched his Robin into the folds of his cape and held him there in a rib bruising embrace, eyes trained on the tensed back of the masked archer.

"You saved him, thank-"

"I saved the kid because he's a kid, not because he's _your_ kid! Do you even realize you're still in costume, no wonder criminals no longer fear the night. You're a joke."

Roy's voice came loud and harsh through the cowl's mic system, each jab like a solid sucker punch to Dick's stomach. Had Damian not chosen that moment to return his embrace he probably would have toppled under the scrutiny of his ex-best friend. Without another venom filled word the red head walked away.

This time it was Dick who fought back the urge to scream.

* * *

**AN: Sorry it's been so long since I've updated, you can blame that on two weeks chock-full of finals and projects. But things have slowed down a bit so I'll be getting back into my old updating pace. I don't really have a knack for fight scenes so you all might have to bear with me a bit. For all those Roy fans, fear not he will have plenty more involvement as we move along. Fluffiness is in your future! Love to all my wonderful reviewers, there is going to be plenty more to come.**

**PS YJ's Salvage...amazing episode. Just saying. x3**


	4. When You Hear My Heart Stop

-_When you hear my heart stop._

"**Anyone can give up, it's the easiest thing in the world to do. But to hold it together when everyone else would understand if you fell apart, that's true strength." –Unknown **

No one ever told Dick that the night could take so damn long. Even after patrol, tucking Damian into bed, and fielding Alfred's concern laced questions the first lights of dawn were still hours away. Every bat was nested in their respected belfry, sleeping through the last shreds of darkness. Dick however found his eyes incapable of shutting.

They gazed upward at the normally bleak ceiling. With every blink a new image painted itself behind his eyelids. Damian's limp body broken and bloodied on the concrete, Jason walking away, a red feathered arrow lodged in his chest, Tim lost in some backstreet of Paris, and the ever present look of disappointment etched in Bruce's long dead face.

How was he supposed to protect a city from itself?

How was he supposed to raise a child when, despite his mantra for independence saying otherwise, he was little more than a child himself?

How was he supposed to embody the darkness when for his entire life he'd been the light?

How was he supposed to be _the _Batman?

* * *

There was no handbook on how shut off your emotions. No one could teach him how not to scream when he saw his baby brother, his ward, his _son_ toppling from seven stories up. It wasn't possible. They needed much more than he could give and demanded more than he was capable of accomplishing.

But he was Dick Grayson. He was the sunshine that now had to be the shadow too. And he would face the world with a golden smile and sleepless eyes, not because he could but because he wanted the burden to fall on no one else, to torture no one else.

Dick clutched at the covers and allowed the salty warmth of tears to dribble down his cheeks. Just as the clock struck two he told himself the same three words that he did every night.

_Hold it together._

With staples and duck-tape or nails and glue, if he could make it through the emptiness of the night he was through the worst of it; all he had to do was hold it together.

* * *

"…_you have to muscle on."_

Jason could hear the words booming in his head, but they were of no relevance to him. Bits and pieces of memories, conversations he'd heard but not listened to. Not until now, not until his finger was poised over a trigger and no matter how hard he tried wouldn't move away.

"_You're a joke!"_

Every undeserved insult came flying back with shocking clarity. Anger rose in his chest, toward Bruce, and Roy, and Damian…and even himself, for being so damn blind. How much thinner had Dick become since taking up the mantle? When would they have noticed the bruises that never seemed to heal, or the shadows that never faded?

_"That bullet was as much a warning to criminals as it was to you."_

Jason had already received his warning, the message practically written on the manor walls. Blinded by what he'd thought to be Dick's personal incompetence he'd ignored the silent pleas for help, the lingering gazes that begged for one of them, any of them to stay.

"…_you will never be your father."_

A gentle, gloved hand took hold of his own. Thin lips pulled into a smile that even under the shadow of such pain glowed with a warm radiance. "It's ok Jaybird." His eyes screamed the contrary, royal blue depths cried dry. Jason couldn't stop him, his arm refused to move, even as it was being aimed toward his brother's chest. This time there wasn't any Armani or Kevlar, just a t-shirt, of no more use against a bullet than flesh.

"Just…just tell me when you hear my heart stop."

The request was simple, but fell with the weight of the world.

He tried, god Jason tried to pull away.

All he managed to do was pull the trigger.

* * *

**AN: Um, so I'm not entirely sure how this chapter came about. Just thought someone needed to see just how badly broken Dickiebird is, but we all know Jason would lose his street cred if he rushed to comfort his older brother. Soooo, prepare for some major Roy and Dick angst/hurt and comfort action. Thanks go out as usual to you amazing reviewers, though there isn't much to review this time. **


	5. Taking Aim at a Dead Man

_-Taking aim at a dead guy._

"**There is nothing like puking with somebody to make you into old friends." -Sylvia Plath**

Crimson trickled from the corner of Dick's mouth, his complexion paled to a near paper like resemblance. Jason could feel the warm flecks of blood cooling against his cheek, the beretta slipping from his grasp. With a shaking hand he reached to cup Dick's jaw, those brilliant royal blues fluttering and glassy.

"Jason, it's ok." His brother's dead weight fell into Jason's form, dragging them both down to their knees in the thickening puddle of blood at their feet. No word would form on the anti-hero's lips, his teeth grit so tightly together it was a wonder he could even suck a breath between them.

"Jason, it's ok."

"_Jason, it's ok."_

* * *

"Jason!"

Blue green eyes shot open and winced under the flickering light of the lamp. Jason glanced around wildly for any sign of his mortally wounded brother, finding instead only the worried eyes of a familiar archer. Thickly muscled thighs pinned his legs together while calloused hands held his wrists above his head. Had the situation been any different Jason might have been tempted to drop an undoubtedly vulgar innuendo about his ensnarement in Roy's limbs.

Just within sight to the left of the archer's ear was a bullet sized hole cutting into the dark recesses of the roof. All of Roy's apprehension and the excessive amounts of restraint were suddenly explained. Maybe Jason really ought to consider his housemates insistence that he stop sleeping with his beretta in hand.

He swallowed past the thickness that had built up in his throat and with a firm but harmless knee to the gut he got Harper to roll off of him. Jason hauled his legs over the side of the bed and rubbed the remnants of sleep from his face, his tired gaze swung through the darkness of his bedroom and landed on the still intent looking archer standing only half illuminated in the middle of the largely empty room.

* * *

"Wanna talk about it?"

They'd been through this process before; nightmares weren't exactly uncommon in their line of employment. With a shake of his head Jason watched as Roy hesitantly started for the door.

"You're an idiot." The cold words stopped the archer's retreating form. "Me tearing him down is one thing, Bruce breaking him is another, but you…you're pretty fucked in the head if you're going to lose him like the rest of us." Jason knew Roy no longer had to ask to know what the nightmare was about, he could read the rigid furry etched into the other's tensed muscles. He'd meant to rile the red head, to stir up the hurt that had led to such animosity. Because beneath it in the vast expanse of a heart Roy would deny having a seedling of concern would take root.

If Jason was worried about Dick, enough to be somewhat up front about it, then Roy should have been downright terrified.

* * *

"What if I'm not losing him, what if he's the one who lost _me_?" Roy's response was steeped in a deep rooted sense of betrayal, his grip on the doorknob leaving indentations in the cheap brass.

"If that were true you wouldn't have been so concerned when I shot him…or have you forgotten?" Even in the darkness Jason could take a vindictive pleasure in watching Roy fumble for a rebuttal, a way to deny the clear as crystal proof.

"When did you start caring?" The archer's deadly whisper wouldn't have been audible to anyone other than a child of the bat, and by the way he slammed the door, Jason would have guessed the man hadn't expected to be heard or replied to.

* * *

"_When did you stop?"_

* * *

By the first light of dawn Roy made his way along the winding terraces of Wayne Manor. It wasn't the first time he'd scaled the building for Dick's sake, but the last time he'd done it, it wasn't with the best intentions. This time, he wasn't going to lie; his intentions weren't exactly pure or even concrete for that matter.

As he navigated the final stretch toward Dick's room Roy couldn't help but to think of how Jason was such an ass. He had been terrified to wake to the sound of gun fire, walking into the anti-hero's room to find the man sweat slicked and unconsciously brandishing his fully loaded beretta hadn't exactly been pleasant either. His first thought had been the Joker, he'd learned early on about how Jason's bad ass pretense melted into the screaming vulnerability of a tortured child under the guise of sleep. Jason had learned early on that no matter how far Roy had left the heroin behind him, the haunting trips were always present in his dreams.

He didn't owe Dick anything, not anymore. Still the man had the nerve to guilt trip him about Dick and the _one _offhanded comment he'd made. Not to mention the insufferable prick had dredged up his slight over reaction to seeing the golden boy shot during that press conference.

It wasn't a surprise to find one of the many windows in Dick's room slightly ajar, if Roy remembered correctly the bird boy always thought better up high, the roof of the manor proving sufficient. Sticking to the thick shadows cast by the creeping presence of sunlight the archer silently padded around the vacant bedroom. The stench of bleach wafting in from the adjoined bathroom was a bit unsettling, but Roy ignored it in favor of actually finding the man who given the hour should have still been in those pristinely made sheets.

* * *

Grasp. Swing. Turn. Grab. Switch. Tuck. Pull. Release.

Dick moved through the routine at an Olympic worthy pace. He arced through the air with unquestioned skill, tucking and spiraling into a barrage of jaw dropping maneuvers. The ground rushed closer and closer till it was just his feet and the mat. It took everything he had not to double over, his knees aching in protest to the impact and his muscles screaming in agony due to the strain.

Having sucked in a few heaving breaths Dick made his way shakily toward where he'd left his water bottle. He managed a couple small sips before his stomach began to churn in protest, the warm breakfast Alfred had damn near shoved down his throat threatening to make a reappearance.

Tenderly Dick dragged a towel across the sheen of sweat covering his battered body. So many new scars, he couldn't even account for them like he used to. "What can I do for you Roy?" Exhaustion and nausea aside, Dick was still undoubtedly bat raised. He knew when Damian got up at odd hours and paced the halls; he knew when Alfred was readying a kettle of tea. Some things you learned to pick out, the almost nonexistent sounds of the white noise playing over your life. The near silent footfalls of the approaching archer were distinct down to the amount of pressure they fell with and how Roy favored his left leg, the one opposite of the shoulder that carried his quiver.

* * *

Roy stepped out of the shadows, stifling the spark of concern that rose in his chest with a heavy dose of sarcasm. "According to Jason, I'm the one who can do something for you birdboy…or is it _batboy_ now that Brucey is out of the picture?" It was a low blow, but Roy brushed off the stiffening of Dick's form like nothing. Their fights had always been snarling, bloody ventures. They knew exactly how to fix each other, but with such knowledge also came the ability to tear at the rawest wounds.

Today, Roy didn't feel like pulling any punches.

* * *

"A little low don't you think Harper, taking aim at a dead guy?" The archer could hear the edge creeping into Dick's passive voice, the calm teetering precariously on the edge of a vicious storm.

* * *

"Do you know that he's really dead? Because as much as you play it off I don't think you do. Still clambering around like that cape wearing nine year old, clutching at empty compliments and rare praise. From what I've seen, you haven't changed at all _Robbie_."

He was crossing the line, but Roy didn't honestly care. He knew every button to push; every comment to make that would send Dick tumbling over the edge.

"You know for a little while I'd thought you'd grown a pair, that you might just make it out of big batsy's shadow. After all Nightwing seemed to be such a promising escape, but then you just had to go and prove me wrong. Didn't you know about my predicament in Qurac? I heard the bat has a full file on it."

A heavy silence fell between the two, Dick's guilt almost palpable in the air.

"Or was that your own choice, to leave me at the mercy of a foreign government? One that if anything, _encouraged_ the torture of their prisoners."

To that Dick at least had the decency to flinch, but as the younger turned around to face him it was Roy who had to repress the regret that swelled in his chest. He was angry sure, and damn well hurt that his best friend had abandoned him to that sorry desert. But he also knew in part the pain that ate at Dick, the heart crushing notion of falling short.

* * *

"I knew. But I also knew that you didn't need me, a vision of everything you never were or would be. You needed someone you could be better than, someone you could strive to surpass, someone like Jason."

* * *

"You little—" Roy launched at the shorter man, tackling him onto the cushioned mat underneath the high bar. A combined weight of three hundred and sixty pounds rolled across the softened surface. They clawed, bit, punched, and kicked just like their teen days. It was like watching two alley cats squabble. Insults were spit and bodies beaten until neither had any more to give.

"I may be little but I can still beat you." Dick hovered over Roy, having pinned the chalk dusted archer beneath him. His head was spinning, and stomach churning from the constant tumbling. Still he'd had to have been dead to miss the air of forgiveness that radiated from Roy. Nothing like a good brawl to bring out their soft side.

Green eyes filled with a new sense of calm met Dick's wavering blue orbs. Every word that had breached the bird's lips had made a painful amount sense, and in the face of those facts Roy couldn't retain the hurt fueled rage he had arrived with. Even though he'd been tossed around pretty well by the acrobat he could feel the tremble in the other's arms and the unsteadiness in how he pulled away. Maybe Jason was right to be worried. But he was wrong when he assumed Roy was just going to let Dick slip through his fingers.

Still the archer wasn't exactly pleased when the younger expelled his breakfast across his boots. When the raven haired man slumped against Roy's broad chest the archer only wrapped his arms protectively around the slightly smaller male. "Wanna call this one a draw instead Rob?" The other's only response was a grunt that sounded a lot like 'no.'

"Of course you don't." Not bothering to even toe off his soiled shoes, Roy hefted Dick into his arms and carried him out of the cave. It was the first time in a long time that the archer remembered that in this specific equation, he was the big brother.

* * *

**AN: Dick's finally pulling together some allies, can't say much for his health though. For anyone who's totally confused on the whole Qurac incident, I'm pulling things from a ton of different reboots and time lines and stringing them together in no specific pattern. While his chapter is longer then usual it also went without extensive beta-ing so forgive and if you'd be so kind, point out any major mistakes you spot. Love goes out to all you wonderful reviewers, my apologies to anyone who suffered a heart attack at the end of chapter four. xD Seasons are gonna start changing, plenty more villains and heroes alike will be making guest appearances in the approaching chapters, and with a bit of luck Tim will be home for Christmas. Thank you for reading my rambling. :)**

**PS. To anyone who watched YJ yesterday, El Paso is totally not that green. 0.o**


	6. The Would Be Hero

_-The would be hero._

**Bravery has no place where it can avail nothing. -Samuel Johnson **

Laughing— Dick had deemed the action inappropriate when it was at his expense. However the sharp cackles that echoed from the darkest recesses of the cave couldn't exactly be considered laughter, and Damian wouldn't hesitate to attest to that fact.

"Lovely isn't it? How I only ever hear him laugh this much when you're pummeling me." Bracing his wrists in an 'x' Dick locked a grip around the bow staff Jason had just jabbed him with. The blow had been a cheap shot, and his brother's satisfied smirk validated that fact.

"Well then maybe you shouldn't get pummeled."

Taking his opponents words to heart Dick wrestled the bow staff free of Jason's hand. "Maybe you should stop taking cheap shots." He tangoed around the anti-hero with unmatched grace, whacking the back of his knees and then the back of his head in a berating manner. The chastising action only ignited a louder round of cackles from the shadows, Damian's approval evident.

"It comforts me to know your pain brings him greater joy than mine." Dick's tone was deadpanned as he offered Jason a hand, the cave quieting into its default setting of white noise from the bats and various pieces of humming machinery. However it only took a moment for the calm quiet to turn into an intense silence.

* * *

Out of the corner of his eye Dick swore he saw the glint of a blade.

Lashing out he snapped Jason's wrist back, the appendage twisting painfully until immobility was guaranteed. The man's signature kris knife clattered to the floor, three pairs of different blues flitting between one another as Dick immobilized Jason and Damian held a batarang to his throat, undoubtedly prepared to slash it should the choice had to have been made.

"It comforts _me_ to know Roy's little babysitting sessions have sharpened your health and combat ability back to par." With a slight smirk Jason rubbed his wrist, sticking his tongue out at Damian who was slower to lower his guard.

Waving off the younger bat child Dick knocked Jason upside the head and none too lightly. "Last time I checked good babysitters don't force feed their charges and then proceed with three hour sparing matches." There wasn't any true objection in Dick's voice, in truth Roy's 'babysitting' as Jason had deemed was actually quite beneficial. Looking back on his state of denial and what it had cost him both mentally and physically still proved troubling. It had taken three months for Roy to help him not only get back to par but excel to a level that rivaled even Bruce's.

* * *

Bruce…

It was exactly six months to the day and the name still hung around the manor as an unspoken taboo.

"I never said he was a _good_ babysitter, but he is a good friend and a damn good punching bag."

Dick couldn't argue that. Roy always took his licks and then some, never afraid to give back just as well as he got. Sometimes you could almost see the bat in him, the masochistic tendencies and brazen attitude.

Turning away from his rising brother Dick began to unwrap his knuckles, a silent signal that the sparing match was over. "Regardless I don't need any more punching bags today; I was planning on dropping by the grave." A thick silence enveloped the cave and Dick could almost imagine the way the corners of Jason's lips twitched downward at the mention of such a thing.

"You're gonna want to rethink that plan Dickie-bird."

* * *

With a lecture poised on the tip of his tongue Dick turned around, startled by the rigidness Jason was standing with. The other's fists were clenching and unclenching in agitation, eyes cast with stony intensity toward the massive screen of the bat-computer.

Following his brother's gaze, Dick felt the blood drain from his face. On the screen a live newsfeed was playing out soundlessly with mute glowing in the bottom right corner. From somewhere in the rafters the remote clicked, volume bursting into life. He didn't have to look up to know Damian was staring as raptly as they were.

* * *

"_A few moments ago a panic was ignited here in downtown Gotham. In broad daylight the Riddler strolled into the Gotham East Bank, demanding that the Batman come out and play lest he start killing the hostages he's secured inside… Wait a minute; a live video has just been streamed to us from within the bank."_

In a flash of static snow the newsfeed was replaced with video. As the angle swept from side to side along a line of hostages at least twenty-three people deep an arrogant voice slid with silk like poise through the speakers.

"_I know you're watching Batman, probably on your way this very moment. But you don't just get to knock me around, not this time. Today you have to play the game, you have to solve the riddle or…" _

The Riddler's signature cane swept along the line of people and settled on the shaking form of a little girl. Just within the frame a purple gloved hand reached toward the child only to be batted way, a burly figure clad in jeans and a red hoodie stepping in to shield her.

The shot panned out just in time to capture the cane striking the would be savior across his temple, that conniving voice once again echoing to life from the speakers.

"_Or Mr. Hero who has so kindly volunteered will blow this side of Gotham sky high!"_

* * *

Pausing fixedly on the figure as meaty hands strapped a bomb armed vest around him Dick felt his stomach drop through the floor as the foolishly brave man raised his head to face the camera. From beneath a head of red hair and accented by a quickly blossoming bruise, familiar green eyes stared out bright and defiant.

It didn't take more than a moment for each of them to realize who the bomb clad hostage was,

-Roy.

* * *

**AN: Longtime no update xD But school is finally out so this time around you can totally expect faster updates. In the upcoming chapter there will be more subtly mentioned time jumps, so for those who didn't catch it this chapter is placed three months after Roy and Dick had their little pow wow.**

**PS. Was anyone else totally whelmed by this weeks YJ? They really had me going there for a moment. /Is recovering from cartoon induced heart attack. **


	7. Just You

_-Just you._

**True friendship isn't about being there when it's convenient; it's about being there when it's not. -Unknown**

_60:00_

They aren't here yet, Roy wasn't sure why that simple fact rattled him so much. It might have been because there's a bomb strapped to his chest and each hesitant breath he sucked in had the potential to be his last. Or maybe it was the inkling of fear slithering down his spine like a trail of iced water that whispered somberly in his ear –maybe they aren't coming for him, maybe they don't even know…or maybe, just maybe they don't care.

_53:26_

They still aren't here. Denial had lost its appeal somewhere around the fifty-five minute marking. If he had the energy Roy would have been bitter, but the repeated strikes to his head from that damned question mark shaped cane and the toll of the ticking bomb had whittled him down to an aching sense of hurt. This was happening, the seconds disappearing without anyone to stop them. Maybe they aren't coming. The thought shouldn't have scared him as much as it did. Death by explosion was an occupational hazard, Jason being the perfect example. But maybe death wasn't what he's afraid of, maybe it was that he didn't do enough good in his life to deserve someone by his side when death came that truly fed his fear.

_45:18_

They aren't coming.

It might have been despair talking, it might have been acceptance.

Roy didn't have a death wish, but if someone had to die in the place of that doe eyed little girl, he was content with it being him.

Still, he wished they would have come.

_23:09_

The Riddler left, taking his filched money and newly discovered boredom elsewhere. With no thugs to threaten them the hostages had fled. From there it shouldn't have been a problem. Call in a bomb squad, deactivate the bomb strapped to his chest, and then he'd go about his merry way very much alive.

Then Gordon came in with a forced smile, a first aid kit, and a bottle of pop. He'd wiped away the thick layer of dried blood from Roy's hair and skin, patching up wounds with Ace Bandages and gauze. It took the red head only a few minutes to realize his patch job was the equivalent of a body being fixed up before the deceased's funeral service. Gordon was laying him to rest.

* * *

"The Riddler planted bombs all over Gotham, the tunnels, bridges, even hospitals. We don't have an available bomb squad, I'm sorry son."

Logically it made sense, the price of rebuilding key transportation routes and medical facilities far exceeded the amount of money that would be lost from one local bank. Roy understood the sacrifice and told the commissioner as much. Gordon smiled and asked if there was anyone he wanted to call. Images of Oliver and Dinah wavered in his mind's eye, but Roy thought better of it, sending the dread filled man back behind the safety of the blast zone.

Just like that he was alone again.

* * *

Nothing moved fast enough, every one of his hurried steps fell too slowly.

Jason shoved through the unmoving mass of people, showing no regard for any of those he knocked aside. Every bridge had been blocked; every tunnel closed and precious seconds kept ticking away within the depths of his brain. He'd never been this desperate, not even when he'd watched his own bomb counting down. This time was different, this time it was Roy.

Meaty hands clutched to the back of his jacket, attempting to keep him from crossing the line of barricades. Jason with his patience already exhausted lashed out at the interfering hands with his kris knife, not caring for a moment if a few second rate cops were missing their trigger finger.

Sprinting across the asphalt he leaped across the marble steps, shoving though the double frosted glass doors as if they weren't even there. Behind him the crowd gasped and parted for the human embodied shadow following hot on the anti-hero's heels, a traffic stopping half pint at his side.

All three of them had been expecting a fight, longing for a chance to beat down the scum that had threatened their family. Each step they took up the marble staircase was braced for battle, but the only being to be found was a familiar and lonesome archer whose previously empty green eyes had sparked with a rekindled sense of hope upon their arrival.

* * *

Cape billowing out behind him, Dick closed the gap between him and Roy in three steps, gloved hands reaching for the countdown device. He was trained for this, capable of disarming even a nuclear war head with the right amount of time. All it would take but a moment after alienating the yellow wire from the blue…

Steady fingers froze, Dick's brow furrowing invisibly behind the cowl. There was no yellow wire, no blue, or even red. Everything was green, wires and circuits.

"What are you waiting for!" The booming inquiry startled Dick, his fingers flinching back to avoid accidently blowing one of his best friends to bits. Jason appeared within his line of sight, domino mask ripped away so the rage filled depths of blue-green eyes would pierce deeper into the souls of whoever dared to meet his gaze. Even under the other's scrutiny Dick's hands hovered uselessly above the control, he didn't have so much as a clue to go off of…

* * *

"Green."

Roy's voice came out with strong conviction, his hand coming to rest on Dick's cape clad shoulder.

"Why would he make everything green? Because then no one would be able to disarm it. Why would the Riddler make an impossible riddle? Because it creates the impossible answer, that Batman doesn't have the ability to save everyone…that the Bat can be bested. Green is the riddle, the problem, and the answer. "

Behind the cowl royal blue eyes watered with a stinging warmth, the truth in the archer's words undeniable. He couldn't save Roy, it was too late—the countdown might as well have started on zero.

* * *

"Batman—"

Snapped from his ravine Dick focused back on Roy, but the man's eyes were directed toward the ceiling where Robin was pacing the perimeter via rafters, completely oblivious to the revelation just reached on the ground below. The message though silent was clear.

To hell with Batman and the legacy, the mission was Bruce's priority. If it was only him, Dick would have stayed; he would have sat there with the red head till the final second ticked into an unforgiving blast of fire. But it wasn't only him anymore. Batman had a Robin, Dick had a Damian.

Before he could react Dick was hauled forward by his cape, Roy's head hovering next to his shoulder.

"Go."

It was a command Dick didn't want to follow but one he was incapable of defying. For what felt like the last time he hauled the man who in a sense had been his first brother to his chest and held him tight. It didn't need to be said, the fact that they loved each other was obvious in the way they had come back, each from a very different and individually bloody path back toward the road that carved itself in the direction of home. With shaking fingers Dick wrestled with his grappling gun, knowing there would be no time to drag Jason out if he was unwilling to go. His Robin didn't get a choice.

Damian never knew what hit him until they were airborne in the skies of Gotham, Dick holding him close within the folds of his billowing cape. Scoffing at the way his brother clutched at him, Damian squirmed away only to feel a slight pang of regret as he watched the living shadow that was Batman kneel on the gravelly surface of the random rooftop on which they had landed. With a quick glance around he noticed Jason hadn't followed, nor had a freed archer. It was then Damian realized why his mentor had crumbled.

* * *

Jason didn't—couldn't watch as Roy and Dick dragged out a practically wordless goodbye. It took every ounce of what little tact he did have to not blurt and explicit piece of commentary about the whole scene. A sense of helplessness had bubbled to the surface, denial making quick work of pushing it aside. So consumed within his own controlled state of panic, because he was that good -controlled even while panicking— Jason hardly noticed the sweeping disappearance of a bat and his bird. A tiny part of his brain commended Dick for not trying to drag him out too, it wasn't his place. His place was here with his ticking time bomb of a…_indispensable acquaintance_. The words best friend would never pass his lips.

* * *

_09:56_

Roy watched with slight amusement and a growing sense of dread as Jason paced the marble floor, an agitated scowl plastered across his face. "Jason," he started slowly in an attempt to sooth the ruffled feathers of the brooding anti-hero, time was running out and he wanted the man clear of the blast zone.

"Shut up!" The archer flinched back as Jason barked the order, his narrowed eyes flitting toward the security camera. But considering the piece of technology hung limply by the threads of a wire, most likely a victim of Damian's boredom, it seemed an ill placed demand.

"Jay please, if Batman can't save everyone…" Roy was almost desperate to appeal to Jason's sense of self preservation. He didn't want the younger to end up splattered across the rubble with him. It seemed however that the man didn't possess a sense of self-preservation choosing instead to cut the red head off with his razor sharp tongue once more.

"I'm not Batman, I don't have to save everyone-"

Before he had the chance to protest a metallic glint caught Roy's eye and he felt more than saw the rugged blade slice through the back of the vest.

"—just you."

* * *

_00:03_

_00:02_

_00:01_

* * *

Everything crumbled. Marble, glass, and wood alike rained down in the wake of the fiery blast. Having lost his footing due to the aftershock Roy stumbled across the pavement, his already battered skull connecting solidly with the unforgiving ground. Despite the wave of dizziness tempting him into a dark oblivion and the sharp ringing in his ears Roy found himself perfectly content, if only because the weight of his best friend fell heavily beside him, a muscled arm shooting out to shield his head from the torrent of debris.

If that protective arm was the last thing he felt, he wouldn't have minded all that much.

* * *

Blood seeped through the battered tips of Dick's gauntlets; it seemed he was on a one man mission to turn over every piece of the decimated bank, clawing at chunks of marble that were easily twice his weight. Fit or not his body was beginning to ache under the strain and with darkness falling fast the chances of finding any sign of the two outlaws grew slimmer. Still Dick sifted his way through the mountain.

Damian sat at the edge of the debris pile, wrapped in Gordon's jacket and nursing a cup of lack luster hot chocolate. They were the only two still on the scene, watching the Batman tear apart something already broken. Under the last fringes of sunset a pair of indistinguishable figures limped into sight.

But just as quickly as they appeared they were gone, engulfed in a shadow and whisked away in the blink of an eye. Unsurprised but slightly annoyed Gordon had glanced down to find the Robin he had been birdsitting was gone as well, having taken his favorite jacket with him. There was no use wondering how it had happened, so without a jacket and without a clue the commissioner climbed back into his cruiser. He had a feeling Batman was going to be taking the night off.

* * *

**AN: This chapter was long, went without beta, and annoyed the hell out of me. Even then I couldn't bring myself to kill Roy. As I'm sure you can probably tell I've struggled through writing this entire sequel, if only because there isn't an easy way to piece it together as cohesively as the piece before it. From here on in I have planned out the last remaining chapters and most of the piece that will come after it. Yup, it's gonna be a trilogy. So with that I thank the amazing reviewers who always seem to come back even after I make them wait for an ungodly amount of time. :) **


	8. A Night Off

_-A night off._

**Your children need your presence more than your presents. -Jesse Jackson**

Shrill, continuous ringing filled Dick's office. The sheer obnoxiousness of the ringtone had driven him to seriously contemplate tearing the phone from its base and dropping it out the window from forty six stories up. Yet for publicity sake he refrained from murdering the infernal device, settling instead for jabbing the speaker button with entirely too much force.

"Richard speaking," in his annoyance Dick let a bit of the bat-tone slip into his voice. The whole day had been abnormally packed with meetings and files four inches thick. All he wanted was for the clock to strike six so he could make his way home. However the thought of having to deal with Jason's homicidal humor, Damian's grumbling, and Roy's egging on of it all wasn't any more appealing.

If he could go back a month he'd keep his tongue tied and refrain from offering the two outlaws a permanent place in the manor. Yet even as he thought about taking back the already accepted offer Dick knew that if he had been staring down the explosion battered bodies of his brother and friend like he had the day he extended the invitation, he wouldn't have been able to do anything short of beg for them to stay.

* * *

"Master Dick, I surely hope that wasn't a tone you were taking with me." Snapped from his thoughtful reverie by the steady English accent floating though the speaker, Dick had to resist the urge to slam his head into his desk. A lecture about phone etiquette was the last thing he needed.

"Of course not Alf, but I am rather occupied. Was there something you needed, did Dami try to bring home another kitten?" Allowing a false sense of cheeriness into his words Dick forced himself to be cordial; after all it wasn't Alfred who had mixed up the company's latest merger. No, that was some idiot three floors below.

"I'm afraid the dilemma pertaining to Master Damian is not of the feline variety today."

Sitting up a little taller in his chair, Dick's brow furrowed in worry over his ward.

"But this is about Damian?"

"Yes sir, it seems Gotham Academy's annual parent night is scheduled for this evening…Judging by your lack of response I assume he failed to inform you of this as well?"

Gritting his teeth Dick nodded in affirmation, realizing a moment too late that Alfred couldn't see him.

"Would you like me to fill in for you sir?"

At this Dick paused, vague memories of Alfred escorting him to parent night bubbling to the surface. How many times had Bruce said yes to that question, how many nights had slipped between the man's calloused fingers?

"No thank you Alfred, I've wrapped up work for the day anyway," he lied while shoving the files away from him. "I'll swing by the manor and pick him up."

* * *

Tire rumble and engine hum filled the car, Dick's patient gaze focused on the road ahead. "Is there a reason you didn't invite me to parent night?" A quiet 'Pfft' was his only answer.

"Is it because I'm not your parent?" The stony silence that followed his second question was all the answer Dick needed; he just hadn't expected it to hurt so badly.

"It's ok if you don't think of me as—"

"A parent is one of two genetic contributors to a biological offspring. Neither you nor Pennyworth fit the accurate definition."

His gentle gaze roamed across the huffy little bird, Damian's eyes cast steadfastly toward the window while his arms folded over his chest defensively. The emotionless dismissal of him as a parent figure left a gaping hole in Dick's heart; still he put on a brave face and brought the car to a gentle stop in the quickly filling parking lot. Before he had the chance to offer a quip or comment of encouragement the car shook from the slammed passenger door.

* * *

Stifling a sigh Dick hurried after Damian, squeezing and crushing through the crowd of overzealous children and their proud but tired parents. It was a miracle he even ended up in the right classroom, having followed the top of Damian's head through the mass of people filling the halls. He was met with the familiar sight of individual desks, white boards, and a polished looking teacher milling about. Nothing much had changed since he'd walked the halls; it was all standard Gotham Academy appearance.

Quickly he scanned the room for a familiar head of ebony and was astounded to see that Damian wasn't standing alone as he would have predicted, but seemed to be gravitating around a bashful redhead in a bright red hoodie. Before he had the chance to leap in and make sense of the situation a gentle hand landed on his shoulder.

"Mr. Wayne,"

* * *

"Grayson-Wayne," Dick automatically corrected as he turned to face the woman he could only assume to be Damian's teacher, her blonde hair falling thickly behind her thin shoulders.

"Of course," she blanched apologetically before extending a hand. "I'm Lori Elton, Damian's teacher." Dick smiled politely and shook the woman's hand, not missing how the corners of her lips turned down when she spoke Dami's name. "It's a pleasure Miss Elton; I expect he hasn't been any kind of trouble." He brushed the surface gently, knowing full well Damian might have wreaked havoc on the entire school.

"There was only a small incident regarding a teddy bear of a fellow student, but the situation was resolved easily. Aside from that he has proven exceptionally bright in all of his work, and while he doesn't interact much with anyone he does seem to have forged quite a friendship with Colin. He's an orphan but your generous donation to the school allowed us to fund scholarships…"

Dick tuned out most of what followed, his eyes fixed toward where the teacher had motioned. Damian was identifying with an orphan. On one hand he was ecstatic that his bristly ward had managed to build what appeared to be an honest friendship, but on the other Dick had to weigh the crushing possibility that Damian was so drawn to Colin because he felt like an orphan himself. Here he thought he'd been on the right path, taking up the stretch of fatherhood Bruce had failed to. Maybe he was wrong, maybe he'd become as oblivious and self-justifying as his mentor had been.

* * *

Suddenly the white noise of chatter seemed to disappear and Dick was jolted back to awareness by the questioning gaze Miss Elton had focused on him. "I'm sorry, what were you saying?"

"The teddy bear incident aside there has really only been one other instance in which Damian proved to be troublesome. About a week ago I gave the students an assignment to fill in a family tree…I'm not sure if Damian didn't understand the concept or if he was intentionally filling the tree out wrong."

Puzzled Dick took hold of the paper Lori offered, Damian's neat script overflowing into the margins with side comments and extra boxes. Carefully he scanned through the labels, both provided and added, his heart leapt into his throat and his gaze wandered first to his little bird and then his teacher.

"I'd appreciate it if you would give him full credit for this assignment Miss Elton. While I'm no teacher, I do know that this family tree is filled out perfectly. You have yourself a goodnight." Stepping away as she floundered and failed to find a rebuttal Dick advanced lightly to Damian's side, offering a smile toward the redhead he could only assume was Colin.

Much to the younger's annoyance Dick ruffled Damian's hair and offered him a light pat on the back. "We're all done here Dami, you've done an amazing job. In fact I think we should celebrate, how does one of Alfred's ice cream sundae sound?"

* * *

It was slight but Dick saw the faint twitch of a smile on the other's face but it was quickly replaced by a determined line. "We've an obligation to the night shift Grayson, or have you forgotten." The answer was clipped and pointed as nearly everything about the ten year old was. But Dick had already found the chink in his armor, they all had one, and apparently redheads were the storming trend in that department.

"Everyone takes a night off on occasion Damian, and I'm sure Alfie would love to meet your new friend." Smiling widely he watched as Damian glanced between him and Colin, obviously torn.

"Sundaes sound satisfactory…" The way Colin's eyes lit up at Damian's quiet agreement made Dick's heart ache, as he ushered the two back toward the car and to the manor he made a mental note to have Alfred check into the paper work needed to become a foster parent. Colin was good for Damian and a family would be good for Colin.

* * *

"Master Damian, I insist that half a bag of gummy bears is sufficient for Master Colin's sundae." Dick smiled at the gently chiding butler, waving him down as he devoured the last remaining scoops of sprinkle covered ice cream in his own bowl. "Let the kids live a little Alfie," he smiled warmly at the butler and motioned him closer, producing Damian's family tree from his breast pocket.

"I think this deserves a place on the fridge." Dick smiled at the butler's puzzlement and moved to hand it over before it was snatched. "And what would this be Dickie-bird?"

"Why don't you read it for yourself Jay, I'm sure you're mentioned in there somewhere."

_Grandfather: Pennyworth_

_Father: Bruce Wayne_

_Mother: Talia al Ghul_

_Big brother/Guardian/Dad: Grayson_

_Big protectively psychotic brother: Todd_

_Annoyingly stupid big brother: Drake _

_Ginger uncle: Harper_

"A place on the fridge indeed," Alfred confirmed as he pulled the paper away from Jason and stuck a magnet to it.

"He called me psychotic!" Jason protested indignantly.

Dick could only smile. "He also called you a brother."

* * *

**AN: Well this one didn't take two weeks to upload :) While I'm sure many of you would argue that Jason and Roy moving into the manor is extremely out of character, bear in mind that Alfred can be quite persuasive when his charges come home bloodied and battered. Other than that I just felt we needed a family moment to cement all the bonds, even the new one with cutie pie Colin. Anyway, to those wondering about Tim -his adventures will be revealed soon enough and I'll bid you adieu with a plate of cookies and love to all the amazing reviewers. **

**PS: Anyone else notice the Batclan's weakness for gingers? :3**


	9. Safe and Sound

_-Safe and sound. _

**Action and reaction, ebb and flow, trial and error, change - this is the rhythm of living. Out of our over-confidence, fear; out of our fear, clearer vision, fresh hope. And out of hope, progress. -Bruce Barton**

Snow fluttered down in a subtle sprinkle, coating the two inches of packed flakes already encasing the Gotham roads below. From atop the roof of GPD headquarters Dick could finally take a second to enjoy the sight of the first real snow fall of the season. In the moment it was beautiful and promising, in many ways like the city itself.

* * *

"The light isn't on for a reason kid."

His voice was warm with affection, something Dick had longed for in the months after donning the cape and cowl. He wanted approval from a third party, one that wasn't obligated to show support because they fell into the category of friend or family. There had to be someone to keep him in check, someone who didn't have to hide behind a domino or a computer screen.

"I'm not really a kid anymore, am I sir."

Dick felt more than saw the gaze that settled on his shadowed form, age weighted footsteps growing closer to his position propped atop the building edge.

"I sat with you in the police station the night your parents fell, I drove you to Wayne manor, I fought tooth and nail to have _him_ fire you after I first caught you in costume, and I drove you to your high school prom. You will always be a kid to me."

* * *

It should have surprised Dick, the amount that this man knew about his life. But it didn't, not one bit.

"You've known all along?"

"It took me a couple of months to work out _his_ identity, but in the earliest moments even he was sloppy about how many clues he dropped. Some of the signs were just obvious, but the arrival of the first Robin cemented it all. The coincidence was just too great to be believable. When he died…I wasn't entirely sure what was going to happen. Vigilantes crawled out of the woodwork and set about protecting the city, but none of them were _him_. Then Batman just suddenly reappeared and the city got better."

There was an edge of doubt in Gordon's voice and for some reason it cut Dick to the core to hear it. Still the subtle compliments quickly subdued any dredged up pain that came with the faint show of skepticism.

"Things were almost normal; Gotham had a Batman, and a damn good one at that. But there was no way _he_ could move like you do, and _he_ certainly wouldn't have taken on that new Robin. It was subtle things that gave you away. The compassion and chattiness were two big ones, but never in all of our working together did Bruce ever call me _sir._"

Dick flinched inwardly at having all of his tells spoken aloud. "Old habits die hard I suppose."

"Maybe they shouldn't have to…you've done a good job son. Better than maybe even he could. The city feels safe with you out there, I feel safe with you out there."

* * *

Silence fell comfortably between them and Dick was slightly surprised to feel the warmth of tears trickling down his cheeks. "I miss him."

"We all do, but isn't that all the more reason to be home tonight? It's Thanksgiving Dick, you should be with your family."

Shaking thoughts of Bruce from his head, Dick straightened and finally turned to face the familiar outline of Jim Gordon. "Funny Commish, I was thinking along the same lines. There's plenty of turkey to go around, and Babs would kill me if I came back without you. What do ya say?"

A faint smile tugged at the corners of Jim's lips as he eyed the unguarded young man standing tall under the weight of his late father's world.

"Your car or mine?"

* * *

Warmth radiated from every corner of the manor, the sinfully delicious aroma of Alfred's cooking providing the perfect company to such a feeling. As quickly as his slightly numb fingers could manage, Dick stripped himself of the batsuit and cast it into one of the various hall closets, motioning Gordon ahead of him. He felt rather ninja like standing in a skin hugging pair of black jeans and a fitted t-shirt of the same color. But his ninja attire was certainly a better option than tempting Alfred's distaste of costumes in the house.

Ambling slowly after the already vanished Jim Gordon, Dick stopped to lean in the dining room door frame, a beaming smile taking hold of his face. Any chance of order had obviously been cast out the window; even Alfred seemed to have loosened his bow tie in the face of such delightful chaos.

Clarke and Conner were pushed to the side of the group, a pumpkin pie being viciously fought over between them. Dinah and Oli were busy steadfastly avoiding Roy, and quickly downing whatever was left in the wine rack. Roy was sitting with his back to them, hat pulled down over his eyes hinting that he was asleep, and his legs were propped up in Jason's lap. Jay for the most part seemed unbothered by the archer's proximity, focusing his attention instead on using forks to fling pecans off the pecan pie and into Stephanie's hair.

Steph was too consumed in one of Dianna's astounding tales to notice the sticky flying projectiles being aimed at her; luckily enough a very annoyed looking Cassy seemed to be enjoying her job of skewering the nuts midair with terrifyingly well aimed toothpicks. At the center of the table, and seemingly unfazed by all the madness was Jim and Alfred, hacking away at the turkey with precisely aimed electric carving knives.

Still there were two little devils that Dick had yet to pick out amidst the insane dinner party. But when he caught sight of two fuzzy teddy bear legs dangling from the rafters, it wasn't hard to guess where his two wards were hiding out, most likely having filched half of the dessert cabinet too.

* * *

"Collin, Dami—"

His attempt to call the two from their hiding place was quickly cut off by Barbara's commanding voice.

"Dick, look out!"

It was too late, the impact having sent Dick flat on his butt on the hard marble tile.

For a moment everything was silent. The hum of the carving knife ceased, the tap of wine glasses vanished, chatter died, and even the twang of Jason's pecan flinging fork quieted. Everyone's eyes turned from the guilty looking Kryptonians to the pumpkin pie tin that was rolling away.

Slowly, methodically Dick wiped the delicious smelling orange goo out of his eyes. He could only imagine what his pumpkin pie facial looked like, and not a moment later a cackle cut through the room from high atop the ceiling rafters. Dick couldn't help but follow suit, his chest heaving with laughter as he fell back against the marble, finally catching sight of Collin's and Damian's faces split wide with smiles.

It wasn't long after that, that the entire room was filled with chuckles, giggles, cackles, and laughs alike.

Everything was almost perfect.

Almost.

* * *

In the far corner of the dining room, as he finally rose to go wash the pumpkin off his person, Dick noticed the vacant chair sitting all by its lonesome. He couldn't help but think about the boy who should have been occupying it, laughing along with the rest of this wonderful patchwork family.

_Tim._

Wherever in the world he was, Dick hoped he was safe and sound.

* * *

**AN: Sooo guess who's back? Me! :D I really meant to upload this chapter before I left for band camp, but I didn't get to it, and the musical world spiting me as it always does made sure that my band camp had zero internet connection :(This time my whole promise about not taking forever will be kept. Hugs and bunnies and rainbows to any of my remaining reviewers I love you all. And for any Tim fans out there, you'll finally get to figure out where he's been all this time. **

**PS. I don't give a flying flip about what DC says, Timmy will have always been a Robin! **


	10. The Return of a King

_-The return of a king._**  
**

**Would 'sorry' have made any difference? Does it ever? It's just a word. One word against a thousand actions. -Sarah Ockler**

Rumors, they had dictated the last nine months of Tim's life. A sighting here or a whisper there had sent him diving head long into hundreds, if not thousands of fruitless searches. Through nooks and crannies—in corners of the world people had long forgotten about, he'd scoured every continent in some way, shape, or form. Hoping…always hoping.

* * *

Steadily he marched through the darkening twilight of the Iranian countryside, his body rejoicing that the relentless desert sun had finally fallen deep beneath the crest of the nearing mountains. In all of his worldly travels he'd never been exposed to such miserable conditions.

Under the light fabric of his khaki colored cloak and the scratchy surface of his tunic, Tim's skin was raw and blistered from sun burns, his complexion taking on a tanned tone deeper than he'd ever had in his life –and that was just skin deep.

Beneath the loyalty and loving resolve, he was teetering on the precipice of emotional exhaustion. There was only so much a child twice orphaned could take, and it seemed that fate felt like testing his limits.

* * *

Night had fallen quickly, bringing with it a bitter chill. Against the star lit sky a billowing cloud of smoke rose. The acrid stench overflowing from the burning market place and into the people crowded streets. Livestock and humans alike were fleeing the scene like a startled herd of gazelle, wild eyed and with no other intention but to escape the immediate danger.

They crushed against each other without regard for the men they tripped, the women they pushed, or the children the trampled. Mothers wailed in vain the names of their kids, desperate beggars going against the flow of panic to brave the inferno for the food others had left to burn. It was complete and utter chaos, which left Tim with one course of action.

After all, a bat raised child didn't run away from danger, but toward it.

* * *

In the crushing fray of the panicked mob Tim tried to decipher pained screams from fearful screams, working his way closer to the blaze in an effort to reach the first. He tried his damnedest to detour people down back alleys and side roads, hoping that in clearing the crowd he would stand a better chance of getting to the injured. But no one seemed to heed his broken Arabic; they just kept running, kept screaming.

As they ran they took the fire with them, embers dancing through the smoke clogged air and igniting all that they touched. It was as if the blaze was alive, and intelligent. Chasing the fearful and feeding the frenzy with the promise of a slow agonizing demise. It couldn't be stopped, not until there was nothing left to burn.

Tim stumbled, his legs giving out as he careened toward the packed dirt road. His lungs ached for a breath of oxygen that would not come, body wracking coughs protesting the burning infiltration of what was surely an unhealthy amount of smoke. Feet continued to parade by his still form, the relentless wave of people making it near impossible to regain a standing position. Closing his eyes against the violent orange glow Tim accepted his fate. He was going to die here, if not by being trampled then by asphyxiation. None of these people would know his name or who to inform. His brothers, they would probably never know. And for that Tim was sorry, because he had promised Dick he would be home for Christmas, now he'd probably never see home again.

Just as his eyes slid shut and his body willed itself to surrender… the screams intensified.

* * *

For a moment Tim didn't understand how or why. The cries were no long fearful or agonized, but jubilant and relieved. Stampeding feet slowed and eventually stopped before erupting into a wild combination of jumping and bouncing. It made absolutely no sense, at least not until Tim managed to crack his powder blue eyes wide enough to see the cause of such celebration.

Something—someone had extinguished the flames, their presence rejoiced like the return of a king.

People parted around the approaching entity.

And despite his effort the world slipped from Tim's grasp before he had a chance to comprehend the familiarity of the daunting figure. His last glimpse was of a creature darker than any night.

* * *

There was a set of things Tim usually expected on when he found himself regaining consciousness in an unfamiliar location.

Being comfortable was not one of them.

* * *

The soft weight of a thin sheet covered what felt to be his exposed skin, the peeling and sunburnt layers slathered in some sort of soothing balm. Carefully wrapped cold compresses had been strategically applied to the sights of old injuries which had a habit of acting up, injuries few people had readily available knowledge on. And all feelings of grime and soot had been wiped from his face and hair, leaving Tim more refreshed than he'd felt in months.

After a fleeting moment of hesitance Tim willed his eyes open, sucking in a ragged breath at the sight that met him. The oxygen mask and the glow of computer screens all registered as after thoughts, because it took all of Tim's mustered effort to accept what he saw in front of him.

His hair was longer than Tim could ever remember it being, a scruffy five o'clock shadow adding an edge to his normally clean shaven appearance, icy blue eyes watching him with the same patient interest they had held for years.

A thought to be dead man stood in front of him…very much alive.

* * *

Voice tinged bitter with betrayal but soft with affection, one name came to pass Tim's lips.

"_Bruce."_

* * *

**AN: Well...um...yea. This chapter went without a proof read so please don't kill me for any giant blunders, do feel free however to point them out. Love as always to the reviewers, and apologies to the Tim fans that I basically tortured in this chapters. He lived didn't he? ;)**

**PS. To anyone who didn't understand my comment in the last chapter...according to this next reboot (lord knows there are tons of them!) our beloved Timmy was never 'Robin' but instead started his career as 'Red Robin.' Yea...NO.**


	11. What if you're wrong?

_-What if you're wrong?_

**Do not seek the because - in love there is no because, no reason, no explanation, no solutions. -****Anais Nin **

It was the little things Tim had quickly come to miss. Running water, fresh sheets, and electricity were three that he had happily reacquainted himself with upon their arrival at the Parisian hotel. Fresh from his shower and dressed for bed Tim found his gaze drifting toward the wall of reflective glass erected at the far end of the spacious suite.

Reflected back at him was a devastatingly familiar image. The sight of Bruce hunched over a computer with a quiet intensity so _alive_ in his eyes made Tim's heart ache with nostalgia and his blood boil with rage. In the weeks since the incident in Iraq Bruce had kept conversation to a frustratingly slim set of topics. He asked Tim about his travels, about his health, about the _fucking_ weather! But never had the man asked about his other sons, his home, his friends, not once had he asked about the life he'd left behind.

So consumed within his thoughts Tim didn't even notice the ice blue eyes that had swiveled from the glowing screen of a laptop to the wall of glass he'd been so dazedly starring at. He should have felt Bruce's gaze on his back and the message they had tried to convey, but gone were the days they had had the ability to communicate wordlessly.

"I'm not going to disappear if you look away…"

* * *

_Liar. Liar. **LIAR**._

* * *

Tim wanted to shout it in his face, wanted to scream it from the roof tops. Instead he willed his eyes away from the glass and redirected them to the shadows dancing across the ceiling. Bruce had always had a habit of withholding information, of delivering the truth in an exquisitely twisted way. There had been a time when he had accepted the manipulated truths and partial lies for what they were, but now they didn't just make him angry, it made him _furious._

For the briefest moment he didn't want to be the rational sidekick or outrageously obedient son, and the words flowed off his lips in a quietly intense whisper before he even thought to hold his tongue.

* * *

"I never expected you to disappear; in fact none of _us_ thought you ever would. You were a father, a son, a hero…and then out of fucking nowhere, you were dead. Not 'missing' or 'lost.' You were dead, coffin in the ground, eulogy read, and roses laid, — dead."

Tim took a shaky breath as he raked his fingers through his hair. Bruce's eyes hadn't left the computer screen, however the man's fingers had stopped dancing across the keyboard and Tim knew that was as much of his attention as he was going to get.

"Now you're sitting there without even the slightest clue about what you left behind. I just want to know why. _Why_, were you okay with just letting us believe that you were gone?"

* * *

In one violent motion Bruce jerked around to face him, eyes cold and impatient.

"I _knew_ Dick could handle it, that's why."

Just as quickly as he had swiveled around, he swiveled back.

* * *

It took a moment, but Tim managed to will his eyes away from the man before him. He snatched the remote from the side of the bed and noisily channel surfed, ignoring Bruce's occasional grunt of annoyance. Out of the brightly blurring images one word jumped out, Tim's fingers stopped suddenly and scrambled to return to that particular channel.

A troubled looking French reporter was sat behind a news desk, voice filled with fake concern. Images of burning buildings, empty streets, raised gates, and ash colored snow falling from a red tinged sky played behind her as she spoke. A large headline scrolled across the top of the screen, making his throat run dry.

**Gotham Ville: L'enfer sur terre.—**

* * *

He turned his gaze back to Bruce, fear in his eyes.

"What if you're wrong?"

In the silence that fell between them, the quietly resumed clack of fingers against keys echoed like thunder.

* * *

**AN: 1.) I'm alive...hehe yea.**

**2.) This chapter is basically filler and sat around for months while writers block ate me, forgive the suckiness. **

** 3.) ****Gotham Ville: L'enfer sur terre.—** *_Gotham City: Hell on Earth._

** 4.) Young Justice. Satisfaction...JASON OMFG JASON. Oh and where there is Arsenal there is bound to be Red Hood...please, just please.**

** 5.) That is all. **


	12. Alone in the Silence

"**What hurts you, blesses you. Darkness is your candle." ― Rumi**

Serene- it wasn't a word that Dick got to use very often. It formed nicely on his lips, and rolled gently across his thoughts. Damian and Colin had worn themselves down training that morning and seemed content to waste away the late afternoon with movies and popcorn. Dick normally would have leapt at the chance to enjoy such a luxury with his two boys but there was work to be done down in the cave, and now that it didn't have two preteens bouncing around the stalactites it was high time for him to get started. Surprisingly enough it had been Jason to fill his spot in supervising the tired two, reluctantly bribed by the rare presence of a beer in the manor.

* * *

"It's quiet." The voice, deep and familiar stole Dick from his thoughts. He flexed his cramping fingers, swearing internally that he was going to end up with a hardcore case of carpal tunnel. Briefly his gaze wandered away from the bat-computer to eye the archer warily. Roy had slunk down into the cave sometime in the last thirty minutes, and up until a moment ago had been busy decimating the shooting range that he had been nice enough to install. "Don't jinx it for me Harper, if you want noise I'm sure Jay would be happy to oblige." His fingers reluctantly returned to the keys, files flickering past at a near impossible reading speed.

"Jason actually dozed off, I'm sure those two devils have already tattooed various obscenities across his face by now." From the purposely lazy drawl to the red head's voice, Dick got the feeling that he was in for some sort of lecture. Sure enough it wasn't a minute later that the elder launched head first into a slow prattle.

"We've had this discussion before Dick, about this whole brooding workaholic edge you've got going. It wasn't healthy when Bruce did it, and it isn't when you do it. Everyone else in the manor has taken a day to themselves." Roy swung his arms like a flailing chicken toward the security monitors. Steph was baking cookies with Alfred in the kitchen, Cassandra thumbing through the second Harry Potter book on the counter. Colin and Damian seemed to be rather preoccupied with sharpies and Jason's face. And even Babs and Selina looked ill at ease as they played a round of poker in the east den.

* * *

Dick opened his mouth to argue but Roy beat him to it. "I know you've got a lot going on bird boy but I think you've earned at least one free afternoon." There was a sense of finality in the archer's tone, one that Dick rarely heard and had never managed to weasel around. "What would I even do with an afternoon off Roy?" Dick rubbed his face tiredly, somewhat frightened by his lack of ideas. He used to beg and plead for these days when he was younger and now he couldn't even fathom the idea of them.

"When was the last time you had your muscles worked over?" Roy eyed the other's stiffness disapprovingly. It had been a common practice to get worked over twice a month in their sidekick days, but at the rate Dick was going Roy hoped that he'd been doing so at least once a week.

"Well if you're offering." Dick smirked as he made to stand. In the time it took for him to take a step in the red heads direction a tremor ripped through the Earth, knocking them both flat against the cave floor. It escalated in only seconds, not enough time to fully grasp the situation, nor do anything about it. Briefly blue eyes clashed against green, both wide with panic. Stone crashed down between them, blocking them from each other's sight. The ensuing downpour of rock knocked Dick into a painless darkness.

* * *

"Todd! Todd!—"

"JASON!"

Jolted from his slumber Jason reached instinctively for the gun holstered to his hip, slow to realize he'd stopped carrying in the house. Glancing around for what had woken him his sleep bleared gaze was met by the sight of tumbling shelves and shattering glass, a pair of small boys frozen in the middle of it.

Damian looked about as uncertain as Jason guessed was physically possible for him, the raven haired preteen clutching to the sleeve of Colin's hoodie, a thin bloody streak running down the carrot top's face from his hair line. Launching from the couch with bat worthy skill he hauled both boys into his arms, adrenalin pulsing through his veins as the sounds of destruction filled his ears.

Clutching the two with uncharacteristic desperation, Jason held them flush against his body as he braced himself in the doorway, willing whatever force existed to still the earth beneath their feet.

* * *

From under the pasta pot that Cass had quickly helmeted her head with, Stephanie took in the shambles of the kitchen. Taking an uncertain step forward she swiveled her gaze to the awkward pair standing behind her. Cass had Alfred braced steadily in her arms, her ferociously protective gaze looking somewhat ridiculous under the brim of another pot, Alfred similarly equipped with the improvised head gear.

Somewhat rooted to her new location, Steph watched on with quiet gratitude as Alfred extracted himself from Cassandra's grip, though still keeping a hold of her hand. The ever composed butler picked his way across the floor, shards of crystal and porcelain carpeting the pearly tile. As he passed Cass reached out her free hand and their train of pot heads made a careful exit into the eerie silence that engulfed the rest of the manor.

"Sirs, misses— thank heavens." The relief as evident in Alfred's voice when they entered the living room, Damian perched on the couch applying a bandage to Colin's forehead as Jason hovered behind them a half of the broken coffee table braced in his arms as a sort of umbrella over the two should further debris come down. From the far hall Barbara and Selina were making their way towards the slowly assembling group, Barbara brimming with barely surpassed concern and Selina brandishing her whip as she had no doubt struck objects right out of the air to defend them.

After a moment's pause it was Cass that broke the short lived silence, her question sending a tremor of different sorts through them all.

"Di-ick…Ro-oy?"

* * *

Once, twice Dick blinked against the harsh light stabbing into the depths of his eyes. It took a minute to adjust to the glare before he could make out the dark juts of stone against a cloudless, bright blue sky. Sunlight stretched its warm arms across rock that had never before seen the light of day, and had never been meant to. Deceiving brightness aside, the air was frigid, a stark warmth slithering down his side.

"Dick?"

The voice sounded far off, a ginger topped head poking into view. "Don't move man, we called for the supes we're gonna get you out in minute." Dick couldn't see the need for such urgency in the archer's voice, if anything he was more concerned with the startling abount of crimson that had painted half of Roy's face. He was blissfully unaware of the fact that he was lying only two feet away from an edge that plummeted into a pitch black realm of the earth, on a ledge just barely wide enough to support the whole length of his body.

For a moment Roy's head lingered within view but with the soft and fading scuff of feet he was gone, leaving Dick alone in the silence.

* * *

**AN: So. Pot heads. Yeah I don't know. To anyone who's stuck with this story you're incredible and I adore each and every word that goes into your reviews. Oh and, this is the whole "hell on Earth" thing Tim saw in the last chapter, just sayin. :) BTW I hate break lines, cause they hate me .**


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